"Perhaps I'll be back again when she returns," he said carelessly, but his words belied his inward resolution so to arrange his schedule that he would run no risk of the peace-destroying encounter. As a minor determination, he decided to accept Dee's invitation for the night, since it involved no danger of seeing Pat.
"Yes; Pat's quite doing her job," continued Dee. "It's good for her to have the responsibility. But she's still a queer, restless, morbid kid. You saw a lot of her at one time, Cary. I always thought you had a steadying influence on her. What's the matter with Pat, do you think?"
"The fever of the age, perhaps."
"Oh, we've all got that. But Pat's temperature is particularly high. She rushes from one whirl to another, playing Billy-old-hell with Mark Denby one week, and Emslie Selfridge another, and Selden Thorpe, a third, and what does she get out of it? Not even excitement, or else she's a little liar. She's beaten it now because she says she's bored to suicide with this place."
"And you yourself, Dee? How is it with you?"
"Oh, I've everything I want," she said restlessly.
"Everything should include happiness; I'm glad."
"What's that? Don't know—yeh." Her voice was hard. "Please stop looking at me like a solemn owl, as if you were probing for symptoms. Bobs does all that I need in that line."
"Osterhout? How is he?"
"Go and see him. He needs stirring up. You are coming to us to-night, aren't you?"